


Fighting Fire with Fire

by lovingthealien



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fire, Horror, Insanity, Mental Health Issues, Other, Schizophrenia, pyromaniac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingthealien/pseuds/lovingthealien
Summary: I knew something was wrong with me about 3 years ago. It started small, like some urge inside of me, telling me what to do. Everybody’s got a devil on their shoulder- I know that. But this was different. This was like a passion. It consumed me. Over a month, it was all I could think about. My grades slipped, and so did my sanity. I am a pyromaniac, and this is my story.





	Fighting Fire with Fire

November 2012  
Today I finally put a name to what I’ve been experiencing- pyromania. The unquenchable urge to light something on fire. Particularly, I’ve been thinking about this massive stick pile in the middle of the woods, near a dirt road that my neighbor owns. It’s almost as though it was asking to be lit up. I knew the risks; the pile was surrounded by an entire forest floor of dry leaves, which crackled as I stepped on them. I knew they would crackle even louder if I lit them on fire.

Of course, I would never have the actual guts to light up an entire forest. But I could not stop thinking about it. How amazing it would be to pour gasoline over that pile, throw a match and just run. Run from the fire, run from anything that’s been preventing my problems. My dear friend Andy has stopped me so many times from doing just that. Although I hate him sometimes, it is thanks to Andy that the whole planet hasn’t been burnt to a crisp yet. 

I remember it, about a year ago, when we were at my dear uncle’s funeral, and the urge came again. I saw the candles, and I saw the infinite amount of papers that scattered the area, seemingly creating a perfect for a fire. So, when no one was looking, I took the candle and threw it onto the pile, the flame instantly maximizing. The panic that spread the room was incredible; everyone was so caught up with trying to stop the fire that no one for a second thought that it was a person who caused it. No one even caught a glimpse of me slipping out from the room. But that’s when I realized I had a problem.

It was Sunday, and the atmosphere was just like it is on any other Sunday; somewhat gloomy but calm. The woods were wet today and there was a steady drizzle that had made all the leaves wet. Too wet to light up. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that in my back pocket, I had a matchbox and at least twelves firecrackers ready to light up. So I planted one in the ground, making sure that it was far from leaves, because today was not the day the forest would burn. I lit the firecracker and ran. BOOM! It’s loud band resonates in my ear and only about 100 meters away I finally stop running. Then I plant another one. BOOM! As you can tell, I’m not like most teenage girls. This is the most fun I have. 

Back home, I have to make sure that the mud from my shoes is entirely clean before entering the house- otherwise my parents will question where I was. I will never tell them about the stick pile and the dirt road and leafy area that I have been visiting for the past month. It’s my spot, and plus, if I ever plan to light it up, I can’t have them suspecting it was me. 

We had a campfire the night before after I raked all the leaves and sticks from around the house. It was amazing. I was mesmerized by the flame that seemingly erased the leaves that I threw on top of them. No matter how many leaves were on it, it was never enough to quench the fire. It grew, and it was beautiful.

February 2013  
Before, I used to have a sense of self-control. I used to tell people that rain and cold is my favorite weather, and it is, because it’s the opposite of fire. It can stop fire, and therefore, stop me from doing damage. It’s like a person on a diet saying they like vegetables, and even if they don’t, it still helps them. 

I’m beginning to think that I can fight off the urges. I know it’s questionable, but Andy has helped me so much these past few months. I need to tell you more about Andy. He’s not too tall, probably around 5’8 if I had to guess. He wears black nearly all the time, though his pale skin serves as an extreme contrast. He also wears these black aviator sunglasses. Not to mention, he almost always looks like he’s straight out of the 80’s gothic scene. Despite his dark appearance, he is the only one who understands, and the only thing keeping me from causing massive destruction. 

The urges come and go throughout the day, but they’ve been seemingly less massive the past two weeks. I feel like I finally have control of my brain. I’m able to get myself to focus on other things. For one, Andy has begun to teach me how to play piano, so I use that as a distraction. I also read a lot. If you’ve never read The Giver, you should, because it’s an incredible book. Anyways, my life is going on, and for the first time in a long time, it’s going smoothly.

March 2013  
This month was one that I remember too vividly. For one, it’s the month that the thing happened in the woods. I was running in, and it was about to happen. I was finally about to light the stick pile. I had filled a plastic water bottle with oil that I drained from a tractor in our garage, and I had run into the woods, poured the oil over the sticks, and lit the match before I felt a hard smash against my rib. Geez, that certainly hurt pretty bad. I quickly realized it was Andy, and he gripped my arms tight and pulled me up and ran with me in his grip, took me out of the woods. We stood in the middle of the woods, on the tough pavement with freshly painted lines, where I finally broke free from his grip and punched him in the nose. I didn’t hear a crack, and wasn’t able to do much more because my own face had been bleeding too.

The problem was that I didn’t need to do much more damage. Because at that moment, he straight up fainted. And I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged him to the side of the road and propped him up on a tree and ran to my house. I felt so guilty when I got back to my house. It was the first time I remember feeling true, hard, guilt. It hurt so bad. I also had to explain all the blood and bruises on me to my mom by telling her it was a skateboarding accident, and luckily, she seemed convinced. He got to the hospital sometime later, and I’m not really sure how, because it’s all a blur to me. But he got there, and they didn’t tell me what was wrong with him. I felt my world coming to a crash. They told me that whatever it was, it wasn’t from what happened in the forest. They told me something was wrong with his circulation or something, and that I couldn’t have done anything to stop it. 

April 2013  
So it’s been getting bad again. Andy is in the hospital, so that’s probably why. I’ve been visiting him nearly every day, although my parents never come for some reason. I don’t quite understand what that’s all about, but it kind of bothers me. But the biggest problem is that he’s not with me, and so I’m losing control. 

I went back in the woods today. It’s much different than it was back in the fall. For one, there aren’t nearly as many dry leaves on the ground. They’ve decomposed, and the spring weather means that they’re nearly almost always wet. The trees aren’t dropping leaves, instead, they’re growing them, and the tiny, light green bulbs cover the entire forest. But one thing that’s still the same, one thing that just can’t go away, is that damned stick pile. Dry and tall as ever, it’s simply waiting to be lit. I could even see the oil that I poured on it before still glistening on the sticks. When I saw that, all I thought about was Andy. I can’t walk or drive by the area near it without thinking about my problems, and about Andy. It’s like an addiction, thinking about lighting it on fire. It’s mentally consuming.

Nevertheless, I am somewhat distracted by Andy’s condition. He has some sort of heart problem, and it’s slowly killing him. I’m not sure if that’s medically accurate, but being stuck in that bed at the hospital is killing him. I can tell because he no longer smiles. I mean, it’s not like he did a lot before, but now its worse. Also, his skin has gotten even paler, which I didn’t even think was possible.

September 2013  
It’s almost two years since I’ve known about my condition. Almost two years since I found Andy. Speaking of Andy, he’s finally out of the hospital. They cut him open a few times and now he’s better, I guess. His appearance is weak, but he already looks 3 times better than he did in the hospital bed. I was his only visitor, and somehow this kept me on top of things. I didn’t bring up the incident back in March when he was in the hospital. We only began talking about it now, sitting on the porch of my house.

“So, Andy, how are you feeling?”

“Please, stop trying to make small talk. You’re not that good at it. We need to talk about March”  
I sighed. I didn’t want to bring it up. I didn’t want to tell him that I’ve been so much better when he was in the hospital. Somehow, I technically had more freedom, but I also felt more controlled.

“I know, I messed up, it won’t happen again.”

“You know that’s not enough. Unfortunately, you have to move to the House as soon as possible.”

“What?”

I knew what the House was, but it was not a place for me. I couldn’t leave my home here, where I’ve been doing okay for the past for the few weeks. I simply can’t go there. The people there, they’re freaks. I’m troubled, but I’m not like them  
.  
“Please, just go get your stuff. This isn’t a choice.”

I knew I couldn’t resist. Andy was always right, and there was no point in trying to run away or ignore him. So I walked back into my house, and began packing my things.

November 2013  
I’ve become comfortable in the house now, two months later. And although I hate to admit it, this is technically the best condition I’ve been in for the past two years. They control me here. I’ve met the members of the House, and I guess I ought to tell you because they’re important. Firstly, there is David, who is a very unique figure. Gender-bender, ridiculously thin and pale, with a good sense of fashion and rough cocaine addiction. Then there is Ezra, a young man who is ridiculously opinionated and only has fun when he’s shooting his bow and arrow. Then there is Gary and his daughter Persia, who both reside in the House. They both have the same problem, probably schizophrenia of some sort. Each of them talk to people who aren’t really there. It’s weird.

So we have the psychopath, the addict, the schizophrenics, and now, with me, the arsonist. A weird mix, yet somehow satisfying. I wouldn’t want to call these people my friends, yet somehow, I ended up feeling as though they were the only real friends I have ever had. Other than Andy, of course, who also resides within the house. Except his problems are less so obvious. I’m not exactly sure why he was admitted into the House. Only the faulty are allowed in, so something is clearly not right, but I don’t know what.

The House is just like any house, it contains several rooms and a set of stairs and whatnot. This house specifically has dark wood all around it, and is located in the middle of the woods where only large pine trees grow. Not many leaves fall on the ground of these woods, although it is covered with a dense layer of pine needles. Luckily, they are never really dry since it always seems to be raining here, which Andy said was good. And I guess it is.

One strange thing about the House was that it was always quiet, no matter how hard I tried to make it louder. Andy described the quiet as a key point in the healing process, so that you are left to think about your problems and not be distracted by other things. The only problem was that I don’t think he understood that the ‘other things’ were the only thing keeping me from going insane. So, I often listened to music with headphones in my room, or I would go outside and listen to the birds. Being left alone in the quiet is like having someone with a megaphone scream in your ear.

January 2014  
It seemed that the House was not nearly as good as it seemed at first. I didn’t really want to be here anymore, which I only began noticing a week ago. I wasn’t healing. I still thought about the dry leaves crackling under my feet. 

Each day I wanted to leave more and more, but I knew I couldn’t. I was still thinking about what Andy said, that I need help, and that I need to be here. I couldn’t think of any reason to leave; I mean, I didn’t have to do as much school work here, I didn’t have to worry about my social life, and yet still, it felt wrong to be here. Like I don’t have a real problem I’m just a flame-obsessed teenager. But then that thought hits me again. What other teenager is obsessed with fire? It’s not normal, no matter how many times I tell myself it is.

David was downstairs petting a cat when I walked up to him.  
“What’s beyond the pine trees in these woods?” I asked.  
“More trees” was all he could answer. He was probably right. Whatever world I was living in now was incomprehensible, like it wasn’t really there. I was starting to think that I never really went to the House, like maybe this is all some big dream.

“Quick! Stabalize her!”  
“Doctors, please, tell me what’s wrong!”  
“We don’t have time, she need to be at the hospital right now!”

And all I remembered was shining lights and then the loss of conciousness.

2015  
“So, where do you want to start? Why don’t you tell me where it all began. Where you think you first noticed you were... struggling.”

“I knew something was wrong with me about 3 years ago. It started small, like some urge inside of me, telling me what to do. Everybody’s got a devil on their shoulder- I know that. But this was different. This was like a passion. It consumed me. Over a month, it was all I could think about. My grades slipped, and so did my sanity.”

“Very good. And were you aware of what was happening during that time? Did you perhaps feel- a little out of it? Like you weren’t really there.”

“Yes. Exactly”

“But you never approached anybody with this topic?”

“N-No, but listen, where is Andy? Could I see him?”

“Ah, yes, your mother mentioned this. I need you to listen very close to me.” There was a moment’s silence and then I heard the therapist exhale. “Andy isn’t real.”

All I did was stop in my tracks. I froze up. What was I supposed to do? Is this lady dumb? Of course he’s real, I’ve seen him.

“Are you okay? Please talk to me...”

“Listen, I’m here so you can treat my extensive desire to set things on fire not for you to tell my friends don’t exist.”

There was another inhale and soft exhale.

“I know this is hard...”

“Take me to Andy.”

“If you could just-”

“Take me to Andy!”

No matter what she said all I could do was try to drown out her voice with my own. Take me to Andy. Take me to Andy. Take me to Andy.

The session didn’t go very well that day.

Later I found out that I had set fire to that stick pile after all. It burned not only all the sticks, but nearly half the forest and a house with two people in it. They didn’t make it.

My life was never the same once they took away Andy. I don’t know where he went, but I need to find him and David and Gary and Persia and Ezra soon. I really need them right now, because the urge to burn something is greater than ever.


End file.
